


on a wild hunt

by kay_okay



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Isle of Man, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Talking About The Future, Walking on the Beach, talking about moving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_okay/pseuds/kay_okay
Summary: Dan shivers. He’s still got his jumper on but he may as well be naked with how intimate it feels. He whines a little, presses his back into the muddy earth behind him as he arches.“Being here makes me not want to go back to the city,” he says, seemingly out of nowhere.“Hmm,” Phil makes an interested noise against the thin skin pulled tight around the plane of Dan’s jawbone. “Where should we go?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> title and lyrics included lifted from ["all is well" by austin basham](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUkbD9v0jBs). story based on [this](https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/827542715038572544) and [this](https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/826876164157341696). and the fact they should move, immediately, to a house big enough for them, their anime DVD collection, and their future army of shibes.
> 
> this is a work of fiction. this is a fictional story about fictional representations of real people. none of the events are true. no profit was made from this work. all mistakes are my own.
> 
> thank you oqua for the help!

_woe is me,_  
_weary soul heeding grief_  
_your love in my heart_  
_feels like the ocean breeze_  
_said your love in my heart  
feels like the ocean breeze_

 

_\--_

 

“Man, it's nice here.”

Dan looks up from where he’s tugging a rogue zipper on his shoe and grins. Phil’s got his back to him, eyes set out over a sparkling blue ocean, his voice soft with awe. “Do you mean like ‘Man, expression of exclamation, it's nice here’ or ‘Mann, nickname for this island, it's nice here’?”

Phil turns away from the sea and looks over his shoulder at Dan. “Not everything has to be a pun.”

Dan’s grin falls as he straightens up quickly. He places a cold palm against Phil's forehead, concern evident in the furrow of his eyebrows. “Are you feeling alright?”

Phil swats a hand in his direction and Dan sways away. “Ha, ha,” Phil says flatly, Dan covering his chuckles with his jumper sleeve.

Mann really is beautiful, in a way that Dan seems to forget every time they spend too long away from here. He loves London in all its sprawling beauty, miles and miles of cement and glass and greenery like a multi-tiered cake fitfully frosted with people upon people upon people. In the winter, this time of year, London so often has a glaze of gray fog over it, trapping the dew drops down at the ground level and driving its inhabitants just a smidge more stir-crazy than normal. Luckily for Dan and Phil, they find their most recent bout with dreary city weather timed up with Phil’s birthday, which means one thing -- a way out.

Mann has its own share of fog, light and misty on this side where Phil’s parents now live. They’re set back from the coast a bit, no more than a fifteen-minute walk to the best sunset viewpoint on the island at a pleasant, after-dinner pace. Dan had worn his long coat with the drawstrings, didn’t even attempt to iron his hair after seeing the scattered cloud cover outside.

It’s still light out, and Dan’s snapping pictures from the top of the cliff they found themselves on. Phil sidles up next to him and turns around, phone poised at an angle above them. “Selfie.”

Dan turns his head and smiles in a thin line, Phil snapping the photo before poking him in the side and snapping another one, Dan’s eyes scrunched tight and mouth stretched in a laughing grin as he darts away. It’s blurry across the screen when Phil opens up his photos, but he can still make them both out, leaning in towards each other even as Dan tries to escape. They look natural and happy, cheeks tinged rosy with a mixture of the crisp ocean air and their short walk.  

“I like this one better,” Phil declares, holding up the second photo and showing Dan. He considers it over Phil’s shoulder.

“Me too, less of my face is clearly visible,” Dan quips, earning another elbow to the ribs.

They walk along the cliff in the quiet, hands in their coat pockets but elbows grazing, footsteps falling slowly in time as they always seem to do naturally when they walk side by side. It’s not bad weather but it’s an odd time of year, late January when not many tourists are out and there are only a few people jogging along the walking path. None of them pay attention as they trot past Dan and Phil, earbuds firmly in their ears and puffing out staccato breaths to their own private soundtracks.

The third jogger runs past them, and Dan speaks up. “Let’s go before we miss it,” he says, nodding toward the now-clearing horizon and inevitable sunset. He points at a winding staircase about a quarter-mile down the path; they can see it meets its end at a rocky beach at the bottom of a hill. “This way.”

Phil nods and digs his fist a little deeper into his pockets, leans further into Dan’s side.

-

Dan vows out loud to exercise more once they get back home, 2017 is his year, he’s actually going to follow through with a New Year’s resolution this time, he promises.

“This is… downhill,” he huffs out, palm kneading at a stitch in his side, “It’s not supposed to be… this hard.”

Phil’s no athlete but he says, in spite of himself, “You’re the one who wanted to run down the stairs, Dan.”

“I thought it’d be fun!” he tries to exclaim, but it comes out sounding like a sickly half-wheeze. He coughs. “Oh, this is just pathetic.”

Phil stands up from where he was leaning on the metal guard rails. “We’re almost there. Let’s keep going.”

Dan makes a face and whines, but he pushes a mop of damp, wavy hair out of his face and unzips his coat. Furred cap long-stuffed into a side pocket, he follows closely behind Phil the last remaining steps down a winding switchback.

It’s not much longer until the stairs dissipate into a small clearing, a desolate rocky beach situated at the bottom of the cliffs they were just on. The rocks are wide and flat, sun-bleached arms reaching far into the ocean until they disappear under cerulean water. The waves are calm this time of day, but Dan and Phil stay away from the water line, air too frigid to make it look appealing.

They step carefully on the wet rocks, round a corner at the base of the cliff and find themselves in a makeshift cove. The slabs of stone are smooth but slippery here, so Dan climbs up on one and turns towards Phil, extending out his hand. Phil takes it gratefully, and Dan doesn’t let it go when Phil joins him.

Dan angles his face towards the ocean and breathes in deep. He misses this in the city, sea-salty air and the sound of water beating against rocks, the quiet that comes after a wave crests, the odd sound it makes as it recedes back through the sand and returns to the ocean. The feel of Phil’s hand laced through his, fingers that slide together easily and click into place. The anonymity they have, pressed together under a nameless chunk of cliffs on this tiny island in the Irish Sea.

Phil’s stepped up onto another slab, a couple inches higher than Dan’s. He turns to look down at him, pushing his hands back into his coat pockets as the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Remember when I was taller than you?”

The sky is darker now, variants of cobalt and orange streaking above them, and they haven’t seen anyone around in at least twenty minutes. Dan leans in, fits his palms into the dips at Phil’s hipbones and pulls minutely. “Yes, I remember the first three months we dated,” he cheeks.

Phil makes another face and knees him in the thigh. Dan just pulls him closer, and Phil’s elbows bend to lean against his chest. He smiles secretively down at him and Dan can’t look away from sunny sky blue eyes, feels his own heartbeat in his fingertips and times his breathing with the tempo of the water.

“I’m glad you’re here with me this year,” Phil says, a single finger toying with the metal tab on Dan’s coat zipper. Last year they’d had a marathon Skype session like the old days as it rolled past midnight into Phil’s birthday, Dan in London for one of their projects, unable to make it up north until later. Phil’s quiet against the sound of the waves, almost as though he doesn’t want to alert them of their presence on the beach. “It’s better when you’re here.”

“Yeah?” Dan smiles, wide. He can’t keep it off his face.

“Yes,” Phil huffs out a laugh. He gets his arms free and lays them across Dan’s shoulders, anchors them together. “Always is.”

Dan’s bare hands find Phil’s waist and he tugs, their faces coming closer. He can feel Phil draw in a breath, see his eyes go to half-mast as his head tips, but Dan pulls back slightly at the last minute.

Phil’s face is confused for a split second before Dan leans in again, gently Eskimos his nose against Phil’s. “Your nose is all red.”

Phil reaches his a hand up to rub at it. “I’m cold!” He laughs, eyes going slitted with a familiar glittered grin. Dan feels all the air leave his lungs and he has to press up on his toes to reach for him, the first time he’s had to in years.

Phil makes a surprised noise when Dan touches their mouths together, and it gets lost between them in a muted sound. Dan kisses so unlike the way he usually talks -- instead of animated and hasty he’s calm and thorough. Purposeful when he parts his mouth and gently pushes, tilting his head to one side when Phil’s palm slides up and grips at the flat expanse of his neck. Dan tugs Phil off the rock to lean them against the bottom of the cliff’s wall, sun slowly dipping lower in the horizon.

They’re lazy here for a while; soft, exploratory kissing turns insistent and unyielding with each passing minute. Eventually Dan’s got Phil’s coat unzipped, hands shoved up and under his royal blue jumper and sliding across the soft skin at Phil’s back. He’s putty, literally and figuratively, Dan softly squeezing handfuls of flesh and drinking in the delicate, delicious whimpers he gets from Phil every time he trails his fingertips across a sensitive spot on his ribs. Phil’s hand comes down to grasp at the zipper on Dan’s coat, Dan making his own exclamation of surprise when Phil unexpectedly breaks their heated kiss to start pulling the metal tab down. He follows the seam as it separates open, dropping airy kisses down Dan’s chest.

Dan shivers. He’s still got his jumper on but he may as well be naked with how intimate it feels. He whines a little, presses his back into the muddy earth behind him as he arches.

“Being here makes me not want to go back to the city,” he says, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hmm,” Phil makes an interested noise against the thin skin pulled tight around the plane of Dan’s jawbone. “Where should we go?”

Dan’s head falls to the side as Phil leans in, eyes sliding shut with Phil’s warm mouth pressing insistently into his neck. He can’t concentrate. He says the first thing that pops into his head. “A farm.”

“Charming little house in the middle of a corn field,” Phil contends after a beat.

“Your own menagerie of animals, you’d like that.” A shiver runs down Dan’s back when Phil pulls his collar aside, takes in mouthfuls of skin stretched across the sharp bones at the base of Dan’s neck.

“I'd kill to watch you chop wood shirtless,” Phil comments and Dan barks out a laugh.

“Mandatory physical activity required to survive?” Dan scoffs. “Too demanding.”

Phil leans back but Dan drags him closer by two handfuls of puffy coat lapels. He kisses him soundly, curves his hips forward when one of Phil’s hands creeps across his lower back.

“The mountains then, surely,” Phil mutters against Dan’s earlobe, finally getting a hand past the waistband on Dan’s jeans, fingernails making slight crescent moon marks in heated skin.

“Snow is lovely but not when we'd have to shovel ourselves out of it every winter,” Dan argues, sighing a bit when Phil fits a thigh between Dan’s. “But we could have a fireplace again…” He trails off.

“Fireplace?” Phil pulls away from his ministrations to glance up, considering. “Could this mountain scenario hypothetically involve you chopping wood shirtless again?” he questions, ducking away laughing when Dan pushes at his shoulder.

Without Phil in his arms he gets chilly again, so Dan zips his coat back up. Phil situates himself against the cliff wall, holds a hand out like a line that Dan takes.

Phils tugs Dan’s back to his front, caps his chin gently on Dan’s shoulder. The sun’s almost gone now, three or four curved orange lines above a navy horizon, slowly receding and wavering far in the distance. Dan feels Phil’s arms wind around his front, and he places his own hands over them. He listens to the waves for a long time before he can find the right words he wants to say.

“We love it so much every time we come here,” he starts. He's oddly nervous. He can't place his finger on why. “What about Brighton? London is wonderful, but I feel like we're outgrowing our flat, not just size-wise but I've been feeling lately like I kind of want a change, a place we can actually call _our own_ and by that I mean, like,” Dan's babbling now, he's fully aware but he can't stop the train once it's started, “Like, we can get a pet, or drill holes in the wall, or be loud without the neighbors calling the police on us, break a fucking kitchen tile without worrying about it, or paint an accent wall or something, I don't know...”

Phil, to his credit, never cuts him off mid-rant. When Dan comes to a natural end, dropping his head back against Phil’s shoulder, he finally speaks.

“You know, I think Brighton has some really nice beaches. As a matter of fact, I think they have some really nice houses near some of these really nice beaches.”

Dan lifts his head and turns to look at him, but Phil keeps his eyes trained on the dipping sun, his mouth trying to hide an impish smile.

“I think…” Phil starts again quietly, lips pressed soft against the short hair at Dan’s temple, “I think I can't wait to pick out matching beach chairs with you,” Phil trails to kiss against Dan’s cheek, chin, side of his neck, “and to find a dog to adopt and to decide what kind of wind chime we should have on the front porch. And of course, what color we should paint the accent wall in our lounge,” he lands at his shoulder and kisses there, once he's moved the puffy coat aside again. “Because we're definitely having an accent wall. It's what the first-time homebuyers always mention on _House Hunters International_.”

Dan nearly doubles over laughing, can't hold back from turning to throw his arms around Phil’s neck. He knocks Phil back a little with the force, pivoting them around in a lopsided half-circle, swaying slightly. He feels on the cusp of something important, a chapter heading later in life, bookmarked to read over again when looking for comfortable familiarity. Dan’s happy it happens here, on a sliver of sand that meets the edge of the ocean sequestered from the rest of the town, the country, the world.

“Oh --” Phil points towards the horizon behind Dan’s back, dusky pink and cornflower now, sun just below a wispy line of clouds. “We missed it.”

Dan glances with disinterest over his shoulder at the skyline before he pushes forward, walking Phil backwards to the cliff wall. Phil’s shoulders meet the earth and Dan slides his arms down, warm hands cradling a cold face.

“There’ll be more,” Dan murmurs, hushed words caught between kisses he presses to smiling lips, Phil’s quiet laughter the only thing Dan hears over the sound of crashing waves.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://kay-okays.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/achika_) <3


End file.
